Coming of Age
by Covershot
Summary: ...A thirteen year old acts more like an adult and less like a child...You can’t act like the ‘rebel-without-a-cause’ anymore. Everyone else around you is changing and you’re still acting the same. Face it Bart, it’s time to grow up..." ONESHOT


"I'm hungry…"

My left eye twitches. Does he always have to be such a pain?

"… Lis…"

Seriously. He's thirteen years old now. And he still carries on likes he's ten.

"Can't we take a break?"

"We just took one," I answer. And it was true. We took a study break twenty minutes ago, and, as usual, he's already asking for another one.

"Yeah, like, an hour ago."

"Twenty minutes." Is this what his teacher always has to put up with? I pity her.

He looks at me with a puppy-dog face. I look away and studied my textbook. "That's like, forever, man."

"Do you want to fail your next test?" I ask him. And, thank God, he shuts up. My brother sighs, rests his chin in his hand, and glances at his textbook. Good, I think, maybe he'll finally shut up and study.

And, after two minutes of peace…

"… Lisa…"

If he calls my name one more time…

"… Lisa…"

I slam my hands down on the table and turn to him with an angry look in my eyes. "WHAT!?"

"Never mind." And he looks away.

Beyond irritated, I close my eyes and count to ten. It may be a tried-and-true method, but it keeps me from beating the crap out of him.

"… Lisa…"

I sigh. "Bart, if you don't shut up, I'm going to take this book and shove it down your –"

"Kids!" My mom's call prevents me from carrying out any acts of murder, as she appears with a plate of hot cookies. "Snacks!"

Bart smiles, shuts his book and races over to retrieve the plate.

I run my hand through my hair. They are devoid of the pointed spikes that they were when I was eight. My hair has now been tied up in a ponytail and, to be honest, I like it better that way. Bart's hair has changed too. He simply wears it down in a natural style. I did look better, I have to say.

Bart comes over with the plate and hands it out to me. Well, one little cookie couldn't cause much harm could it? I reach out… only to have Bart yank to the plate out of my reach. Surprised, I fall over and land face-first on the carpet. Bart laughs and takes to cookies to his side of the table.

"You're still too easy," he says, laughing.

"Grow up."

"Lighten up."

I grumble and make my way back to my textbook, figuring that it would be stupid to fight with him about it. At least Christmas is coming soon. But what with the economy and everything, I don't think we'll be getting much. We were strapped enough when times were _good_, imagine how bad it'll be now.

You may call it being jaded, I call it being realistic.

Bart says, after a moment, "What's with you nowadays Lisa? You seem more pessamatic than usual."

"I believe it's pronounced _pessimistic_," I reply.

"Whatever. The point is, you're always so grumpy."

I shrug. "I didn't realize."

"Sure you did," Bart says. "So what's up? Are you not getting that pony you always wanted?"

"I had a pony," I remind him. "And I had to give it away."

"So you gave up on getting one?"

"Let's just say I grew out of it."

"Why?"

"Because it's not possible."

"Why not?"

"You know why not." I shut my mouth and resolve to stop arguing with him. It's too distracting.

"No, I don't know why not," Bart tells me. "Why not?"

I grunt and wave him off dismissively. I don't have time for this. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bart reach and take a cookie from the plate and stuff it into his mouth. He turns to me and I avert my gaze, not wanting him to tease me.

But before I can get to reading, he shoves a cookie into my view.

"What's this?" I know he's trying to pull another fast one.

"Just take the cookie Lis," Bart says. "I promise you I won't trick you again."

"Let me see both hands."

Bart produces his other hand so I can see.

"… And the feet…" I don't need him crossing his toes either. Bart's been notorious for pulling stuff like that.

Bart places both his feet on the table. Ignoring the putrid smell of his dirty feet, I take the cookie and thank him. Bart withdraws his feet. I begin to take a bite of the cookie when I smell something. I cautiously sniff the thing, and I scent… cherries? I take a bite anyway, swallow, and turn to thank Bart again, when I see him snickering. My eyes grow wide with horror and I leap forward and grab him by the collar. "_What did you do to the cookie!?"_

Bart breathes in my face, and I scent the cherries again. Two words: cherry squishee. "Why… you…little!"

Before I can even think about it, my hands encircle his neck and I begin to squeeze. Bart gags and coughs, but I have no intention of stopping. A little something I learned from dad.

"I'll strangle you good!" I scream.

--

One hour later. It's gotten dark by now. I sigh and lay on my bed, wondering why I should be mad with Bart. After all, he's pulled worse stuff than this. Three years ago, I would have been counting my blessings, thankful that's all that he did. But it shouldn't have to be like that. Bart's thirteen years old now. I shouldn't have to passively take things from him and be happy knowing that he could've done worse. I shouldn't have to worry about things like that at all. I should be the one pulling the pranks and Bart should be the responsible one. But with my dad having to work longer, and mom tired with taking care of Maggie, I feel like I was given the responsibility of raising a kid two years older than me who behaves like he's still ten. All of his friends, Milhouse, Martin, Nelson… They've all grown up. Why hasn't he? Bart Simpson is an enigma I'll never figure out.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in," I call out.

Bart opens the door, looking nervous.

"It's alright," I tell him. "I won't hurt you."

"I wanna apologize Lis," he says.

I nod. "Mom told you to."

"Yeah…"

This has always happened. Bart does something, I lose my temper, and he's told by mom or dad to apologize. I've grown past that. "What I want to know," I tell him. "Is why you did it?"

"Because it was funny, man."

"Is that all?"

Bart looks confused. "Well, yeah. Why?"

I finally decide to tell him. "Bart, you're a teenager. All your friends have matured and are acting their age. Why aren't you? Why are you still acting like a child?"

Bart gives me a look. "I know how old I am Lisa."

"Then why don't you act your age?"

"Act my age?" Bart gives me a look. "Since you're so smart, why don't you tell me how a thirteen year old should act?"

"More mature. A thirteen year old doesn't go around pulling pranks, goofing off, and shirking responsibilities. A thirteen year old should know how to pronounce _pessimistic_ and shouldn't attempt to make others mad just for the sheer enjoyment of it. A thirteen year old acts more like an adult and less like a child. Seriously Bart, you're in the eighth grade and will be fourteen early next year. You'll be graduating Middle School and going to High School. You'll be old enough to get a job. You can't act like the 'rebel-without-a-cause' anymore. Everyone else around you is changing and you're still acting the same. Face it Bart, it's time to grow up."

I hadn't meant to rant on like that, but I'd wanted to get it off my chest. And I still had more to say.

"… You still watch _Itchy & Scratchy_ while everyone else watches more mature shows. You still have all that Krusty the Clown crap in your room. You still read comic books made for kids twice as young as you. Bart, things like Krusty, _Itchy & Scratchy_, _Radioactive Man…_ it's not becoming of a person your age. In some parts of Africa, a kid your age is expected to help lead the household. In the Jewish culture, a kid your age becomes a man. I've said it before and I'll say it again: GROW UP."

Bart keeps looking at me. I look back. After a long pause, he says…

"From before I was ten, I told myself I wasn't going to let people tell me what to do. I wasn't going to let people tell me how to act. To tell me how to live my life. That's something I told myself I was going to practice even after I became a teenager, or became an adult. Maybe I do act like a kid, so what? Who's to say how an adult should act? I never saw any book about it, I never say any laws about it. I should be who I want to be and I should be interested in things I want to be interested in. Not things a kid my age should be interested in. Maybe I'm not as mature as you, or the others at school, but you know what? If I was as mature as you, I wouldn't be half as happy as I am now. And I think that's what I should be, above anything else."

I look at him with admiration. I never knew he could so… articulate.

"I want to be myself, not what 'mature' people say I should be. And you know what? That's not a kid thing. That's not something I drop when I turn a specific age. It's like how you used to be Lisa. You used to believe in things like the environment, gay rights, and stuff like that. And you would run around and tell everyone what you thought. You were never afraid to say what was on your mind. And people didn't always like what you thought. Remember that Beauty Pageant thing? When you went against the cigarette guys who sponsored you and kicked you out? But now you just sit here and just act like another person in the crowd. You don't speak your mind anymore. You don't try to change the world anymore. You've grown _pessimistic_ Lisa."

I don't speak. But I listen to Bart in awe. He's got points. I never knew he could be like that.

"… But I'm not going to be like that. I'm going to be Bart Simpson to the end, Lis. I am who I am and I'm not changing for anyone."

The next pause is long, and I slowly bring my hands to clap.

"You're absolutely right, Bart. And, for a moment there, you were really mature. I just came to think there's absolutely no point in trying to be different anymore and so, I just… gave up."

Bart and I looked at each other and smiled. And, from his pocket, he produced another cookie and handed it to me. I took it and sniffed, nothing. From what I could see and feel, no spit either. I bit it and swallowed.

Maybe Bart didn't always act like it, but he was becoming more mature. But, like he said, he would always be Bart Simpson.

--

"Dammit Marge, I can't sleep without it…"

Marge Simpson sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Homer, you're a grown man, you don't need a night light."

"But what about the Boogieman?"

"I told you not to watch that movie Homer, you know you get nightmares."

Homer sat down under the covers and crossed his arms, sulking like a child.

"Now, did you remember to go to the bathroom?"

"Uh huh…" But Homer didn't sound too sure.

"Homer, look at Bart and Lisa, they've both grown up. And you're a grown man. When will you finally act like it?"

"Marge, from before I was ten, I told myself…"

"Go to bed, Homer."


End file.
